


glitter shoes

by loyaulte_me_lie



Series: the heart is a muscle [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras & Combeferre's Daughter, F/F, Gen, Grown-up Marianne, Meeting the Parents, older Amis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: [Airrretist @1eGenteilhommedeFrance: prepared to make NOISE at my daughter’s graduation! Cover your ears, Harvard, R’s in the house! [photo of maracas]]





	glitter shoes

**Author's Note:**

> No triggers as far as I know!

**July 2035 | Harvard University**

**~**

“How are you feeling?” Marianne drapes her arms over Ha Yun’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of her mouth.

“Can’t believe it’s all coming to an end,” Ha Yun replies, leaning her forehead against Marianne’s. The fluorescent light skids across Ha Yun’s smooth black hair, the mirror reflecting Marianne’s face back at her. Someone flushes the toilet in one of the stalls. “All the usual cliche things.”

“Dad says cliches are cliches for a reason.”

“Doesn’t make them any less boring.”

“Yes, love, I know exactly how you feel about treading the beaten path.” Marianne steps back, adjusts the fall of her girlfriend’s graduation gown and cap, glances down at the truly ridiculous shoes they’d picked out, giggling, on the Internet a couple of weeks ago with their friends. Ha Yun catches her glance, wriggles her foot. The rainbow glitter fragments the light, mirrored edges glinting like a cold winter’s day.

“Fuck convention,” she says, succinctly.

Marianne laughs, looks down at her own flowered pantsuit and the necklace Jehan had sent her of all these beautiful paper flowers they’re so good at making. “I can’t wait for you to meet my parents. You’re going to get on _so well._ ”

“Three years later.”

“Hey, not my fault they’re thousands of miles away.”

“Suppose I’ll forgive you,” Ha Yun concedes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Marianne really wants to kiss her again, but Ha Yun spent an unreasonable amount of time on her purple lipstick this morning; there’s going to be hell to pay if it gets messed up.

“Oi, lovebirds, there you are.” The bathroom door opens and Hayley sticks her head in, cap under one arm. “Come on, we have to get in line. Hurry up and stop canoodling!”

“Yes, _Mom,_ ” Ha Yun says, grabbing Marianne’s hand. “Better not be late for our own graduation.”

“I thought you didn’t like convention?”

“Fuck you.”

Marianne laughs, and they head out of the door, back into the swirling melee of classmates and professors.

**

Grantaire has a noisemaker and a pair of red plastic maracas. Enjolras has _no_ idea where he got them from, but after three years in the Elysee Palace, he knows he should be well used to the idea that more people than he ever expected are willing enablers of Grantaire’s wild schemes. There’s no point even questioning it. “He’s an anarchist,” he’s told his press secretary on more than one occasion, “and all the columnists who don’t think he “humanises” the presidency take as much objection to the fact he’s a man as to all the odd things he does.” In any case, Sabrina informs him on the regular that Twitter _love_ Grantaire, and she knows _far_ more about social media than he does, which is reassuring considering she’s the head of his social media team. Maracas aside, Grantaire has actually made an effort - _no, Apollo, don_ _’t worry I save the band t-shirts for those corporate CEOs you hate so much. Marianne is the only person I will willingly wear a monkey suit for._  It’s a shame, Enjolras thinks, glancing at Grantaire. He looks good in a suit, with the silver at his temples and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes; the last seventeen years have been kind to him indeed.

Grantaire chooses that exact moment to look up from his phone. “What are _you_ looking at?”

“You,” Enjolras says, enjoying the brief, happy softness in Grantaire’s face before he reverts back into snark mode.

“The presidency is making you sappy.”

“As you like to remind me.”

Grantaire picks up one of the maracas, gives it an experimental shake. Combeferre, on Enjolras’ other side, gives Grantaire the level stare reserved for overstepping journalists, students not paying attention, or his and Eponine’s particularly insouciant cat. Grantaire ignores him, slides his free hand into Enjolras’.

“Our little girl is all grown up,” Combeferre says. Enjolras takes his hand, squeezes it gently. It’s surreal that twenty-four years have passed since they went to the hospital together to identify the bodies of Combeferre’s sister and brother-in-law and took home a tiny, silent baby, her brown eyes staring curiously up at them; twenty-four years since Jehan and Courfeyrac descended to help decorate the nursery, the late nights, the first smiles and words and steps, and suddenly she’s grown woman with two degrees and a serious girlfriend and a life entirely separate to theirs.

“The miracles of parenthood,” Grantaire says to no-one in particular. Enjolras looks down the row at the rest of their extended family, and the security guards that will never _not_ be jarring (some concessions have to be made when one is the President of France), the odd looks people are giving them, and breathes. Up at the front, the dean takes the stage, the sound of her heels echoing over the assembled crowd. Enjolras squeezes Grantaire’s hand. After a moment, Grantaire squeezes back.

**

“Cute,” Ha Yun says, half to Marianne’s back, half to her phone. Twitter is a useful distraction to the pain of having to breathe the same air as their more…conventional…classmates, to the energy swirling and flowing at nauseating levels just under the stuffy air of the hall.

“What?” Marianne turns in the press of students attempting to arrange themselves in alphabetical order. Ha Yun turns the phone around.

[ **Airrretist** @1eGenteilhommedeFrance: prepared to make NOISE at my daughter’s graduation! Cover your ears, Harvard, R’s in the house! [photo of maracas]]

“Oh my _god,_ ” Marianne laughs, a little hysterical. “He’s not!”

“I didn’t know the President of France’s daughter was graduating with us. Would’ve thought she’d have her own ceremony.”

Marianne has a very odd look on her face, one she always gets when Ha Yun brings up the President of France. The President of France is an awesome man - great policy choices, actually seems to care about people and getting things right for them, also with a man but not married because capitalist misogynistic connotations. His partner, R, the famous artist also has the Twitter feed of the gods. Half of it is sarcastic commentary on the goings on at the Elysee, the other half is random nonsense. It’s the kind of thing that will always jolt you out of a sad mood. Marianne opens her mouth, but then some member of faculty starts ordering everyone into line properly so she doesn’t get the chance; the resulting energy fizz tastes like champagne. “Good luck,” Marianne says as she’s towed away to stand with the rest of the Cs.

The dean talks about something empowering, and then the head of school, and finally they’re moving, the line snaking up onto stage. As Marianne’s name is called, there is a load of whooping and rattling and something that sounds like a noisemaker going on from the back of the audience. Ha Yun doesn’t want to take her eyes off her girlfriend and the beautiful smile on her face, but turns briefly to look out at the audience; there’s a middle aged white guy with dark curly hair on his feet with a pair of red somethings in his hands before he’s dragged back into his seat by whoever is sitting next to him. She doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because the time is slipping out of her fingers and suddenly it’s time for her to stride out and collect her diploma in her rainbow sparkly heels and huge blue and green tulle ballerina skirt. She hears one of her brothers shout her name over the polite applause of everyone who is _not_ related to her, imagines her mother rolling her eyes fondly at Ha Yun’s sartorial choices the way she has for the last five years, and then the moment’s over and what do you know she’s no longer a student.

After more applause and the hat toss, she makes her way over to her family, hugs her parents and her brothers, and even her aunt who is actually _managing_ a smile, shock _horror,_ and then something collides with her and she turns into Marianne’s arms, kissing her soundly on the mouth. When she pulls away, Marianne’s red lipstick is slightly purple, and she’s beaming, dazed.

“Congratulations!”

“To you too,” Ha Yun replies. Marianne grabs her hand.

“Come on, I want to introduce you to my family before they have to head off. I know you’ll meet them at dinner tonight properly, but yeah. Hi Mitchell family!”

“Congrats, Marianne,” Ha Yun’s mother says. Her younger brother holds out his hand for a fist bump, which Marianne gives. “We’re still seeing you for lunch tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Marianne grins. “Come on, Ha Yun, the head of security’s getting impatient.”

Head of Security? Huh. Ha Yun follows Marianne through the crowd of their classmates, out into the quad and past three separate sets of armed guards, which Ha Yun assumes are here for the President of France, and then suddenly Marianne is leading them into a corner of the lawn which is surrounded by _more_ armed guards and stopping in front of a very familiar tall blonde man, who is standing hand in hand with the maraca guy (he’s still got them in his free hand). Ha Yun’s knees lock, and she stares at them, at the other people milling around too; the world spins a little and she has to remind herself to _breathe just fucking breathe idiot, you_ _’ve met Michelle freaking Obama, breathe._ Ha Yun glances at Marianne, half expecting that this is a mistake, expecting Marianne to lead her on, but Marianne’s saying: “Dad, this is Ha Yun. Ha Yun, meet my Dad.”

In a total daze, Ha Yun is shaking the proffered hand and the _President of France,_ one of her political _heroes_ is smiling dazzlingly at her and saying, “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Marianne has told us so much.”

“A pleasure too, sir,” Ha Yun gets out, feeling the sheer, glittering _warmth_ of the energy exchange.

“Rene, please. You’ve got your twain ceremony this summer, you’re basically family at this point.”

“And then this is R, Dad’s partner,” Marianne says, and world-famous artist with brilliant Twitter feed is coming forward to kiss Ha Yun’s cheeks in a very French fashion. “Where’s Pops?”

“He took Hector and Helene to the bathroom,” a woman in a smart green dress with freckles and brown skin and wild ginger ringlets is saying. Then, to Ha Yun: “I love your shoes.”

“Thanks,” Ha Yun says. “I love your dress.”

“This is Éponine, Pops’ wife,” Marianne says. “Everyone else?”

“Jehan wasn’t feeling great, so Courf took them back to the hotel,” President Enjolras replies. “And I think your aunt saw someone she went to university with.”

“Okay awesome, so you’ll meet them at dinner, hopefully,” Marianne turns to Ha Yun with a smile. “And then Feuilly, and my grandparents, and all of Grantaire’s friends when you come to France for the ceremony.”

“Okay,” Ha Yun says. “Okay. Um, it’s really lovely to meet you all, Marianne could-I-have-a-word-please?”

Marianne allows herself to be dragged off into the corner of the quad. Ha Yun’s legs are shaking, and it takes all of her concentration to stay upright in the heels. “What’s wrong?” Marianne asks, a concerned dent between her eyebrows.

“What’s _wrong_? Babe, your Dad is the President of France!?!”

“Yeees…”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I did!”

“No you didn’t!”

“I distinctly remember telling you, several times in fact, about shenanigans in the Elysee and you just kept reading!”

“What? I don’t remember that!”

“Yeah, because you were reading.”

“But all the times I’ve been going on about their Twitters and their policy and…I mean, I get why you didn’t want to trumpet it to the rest of our sycophantic classmates but you could have been more explicit, like Ha Yun, that’s my _Dad_ you’re talking about.”

“I just…I kind of enjoyed the commentary,” Marianne shrugs. “I mean, you probably wouldn’t have stopped if you knew but…it was refreshing, to hear him talked about in front of me like he was any other politician. People tend to get weird, and I’m like - actually, he and _I_ like to know the truth about what people think about him, so he can actually help them better.”

Ha Yun is quiet, turns that over in her head. The dent between Marianne’s eyebrows deepens. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Of course not,” Ha Yun says, after a moment. “Your Dad is fucking _awesome_. When I get over the shock I want to talk to him about _everything_.”

“He’ll love that. I’ll make sure you two sit opposite each other at dinner.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m still freaking out. Just…let me have a moment.”

Marianne pulls Ha Yun into a hug. “Have as many moments as you need. It’s not every day you graduate and find out you’re going to be becoming part of the most famous magefolk family in Europe.”

“Yeah, some warning might have been nice.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“This is actually quite entertaining.”

“For you, perhaps.”

Marianne sways in closer, kisses Ha Yun’s forehead. “They’re just normal people, really. Dad bites his nails and recites old speeches in the shower. R literally attends events in paint splattered jeans.”

“R is an institution.”

“He used to be my babysitter.”

“No way!”

“Yeah. He lived upstairs, and Dad had _such_ a huge crush on him even seven year old me could tell. We’d order takeout and have movie marathons, and this one time, we pretended to be zombies for a whole evening just to freak Dad out.”

“That’s so cute.”

“See, not scary at all! Look, there’s Pops, come and say hi to him too!”

“I’ve got to find my family for lunch at some point.”

“Promise it will be quick.”

They walk past President Enjolras (Ha Yun _cannot_ bring herself to call him Rene quite yet) and R being bustled out of the quad by a terrifyingly hench man with a black earpiece in his ear. R waves at them, then Marianne introduces them to her Pops who Ha Yun remembers is biologically her uncle but not that it really matters. He smiles gently, despite the small cornrowed human in a bright yellow dress clinging to his trouser leg, and asks Ha Yun about her degree and her mage specialization and he’s so easy to talk to and gentle and kind that Ha Yun doesn’t actually notice the time slipping away until someone is calling her name and her actual biological family are hovering awkwardly just beyond the flow of people chattering out of the hall and away to their cars and restaurants and celebrations.

“It’s been good talking to you,” he says. “You’re coming to the dinner tonight, yes?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Well, have a good afternoon, and I’ll see you there.”

He gives her a smile and pointedly turns away to give them some privacy to say goodbye. Marianne kisses her. “Don’t spend all afternoon freaking out.”

“Freaking out? Who do you take me for? I’m assembling a list of questions for your Dad.”

“Wonderful,” Marianne says without even a hint of sarcasm. Ha Yun looks at her, her beautiful, beloved, familiar face and thinks, man I must have done something _really_ good in my last life to deserve this. “Go, your aunt is looking pissed off.”

“My aunt can get in the bin,” Ha Yun says, but she kisses Marianne once more. “See you tonight.”

“See you.”

When Ha Yun turns, Marianne is deep in conversation with her Pops and has the yellow-clad human balanced on her hip.

“Are they nice?” Ha Yun’s mother asks, and Ha Yun turns, forgets to even be sarcastic.

“Mom, you have _no idea._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> So the ridiculous shoes thing is something I'm actually planning for my own graduation this summer, feat huge glittering cockades and lots of rainbows. Will probably end up posting a photo on my Tumblr if anyone is interested. Even if you're not, come say hi to me @barefoot-pianist :D
> 
> Currently have the next longer fic for this universe in progress, will hopefully be posted at some point in the not hugely distant future.


End file.
